” He was dressed in his uniform of a Polo shirt and twill pants. "Where is he?" he cried. ‘Eh bien, Eugénie. ” The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind the coffee things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic adventure. ” “I positively insist upon knowing,” she declared cheerfully. One peculiarity she did not fail to notice. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. ” She realized it was possible to be sorry for him—acutely sorry for the situation.
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